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Blood for the Fields: Day 2
'East Leg ' ---- ::The riverside town of East Leg, founded two centuries ago by Yontalas Lomasa, has over time become a popular settlement area for those who have served in some capacity within the Emperor's Blades until they became too old to ride, patrol or defend against threats within and without. Old horsemen and bladesmen can often be found in the Clanging Gong Tavern, telling stories of their adventures in the Emperor's service. ::The township hugs the northern shore of the Fastheld River, and a busy dock juts out into the jade green waters. Market Road twists northeast, following the Fastheld on its way toward the city-state's commerce district. The Aegis Road cuts west, similarly following the course of the Fastheld, toward the massive wall that envelopes the realm; and a paved way cuts east to where the mansion of East Leg's ruler lies: the Heron Hall. ---- :As the sun sinks beyond the hills to the west, two dark figures can be seen shambling toward town from the east, drawing a cry of alert from watchmen on the outskirts. Both are Black Wildlings. One cradles an arm in front of a gaping torso wound, capturing the spilled entrails as it goes; the other's head is barely attached, threatening to flop off onto the ground at any moment. Around the same path as the biinwood carriage comes another, this one composed of shardwood and bearing the same emblem that is found on all public transports. A rather ruffled-looking Milora Lomasa exits, her staff at her side. She gives Tiris Kahar a grin and a polite bow as she recognizes him, moving to presumably follow him off of the platform. "Good evening," she begins, the smile dropping from her face at the sound of a faint cry from the edge of town. She looks in that direction, faintly curious. A heavy-set, brown-haired woman exits a carriage in the middle of the town, stepping out somewhat gracefully for a woman of her size. Vamyla looks around, emerald eyes glimmering with curiosity. A sound in the distance catches her attention, was that a cry? She looks in that direction with a look of concern. "Make up /my/ mind?" Alin repeats, face turning red. He turns to Norran and offers a bow, expression stern and flatly grim. "Good evening, Duke Lomasa." He rumbles, pulling off a gauntlet and stroking his whiskers unhappily. The sound causes his head to shoot up, and he spins on a heel, frowning at the horizon. "What..?" "Oh? Excitement just /follows/ me, doesn't it? I wonder what this could be!" excitedly acknowledges the young Duke, slipping a sabaton back into Palisade's stirrup and easily hoisting himself back in the saddle. "Hah!" he grunts with a nudge to his charger's sides, a hand reaching to his hip to rest on his cavalry sabre as he goes to investigate. "Do not even start, Norran," Katriana grumbles up at the Lomasa Duke, glaring. Her glare gets cut a little short though, at the cry, and the flurry of movement from the men around her. She steps up next to Alin, a hand on his shoulder as she squints, rising up onto her toes. "What was that...?" Reijek is rather prone to wandering, which is a rather common habit of someone who hasn't really settled down and you know...found a place to call home yet. The rather odd looking man walks through the street, paying no attention to his immediate surroundings as he takes in his larger surroundings. "Oh, Light's Greetings, my Lady." The Duke Kahar rumbles warmly, smiling down at Milora as he steps off of the carriage platform. Tiris's armor rattles and jingles as he descends the steps, pausing at the bottom just as the call of alarm comes up. He straightens up instantly, alert, and turns to Milora. "That was the Watch." He says, holding out one gauntlet to stop her. His other gauntlet rests on the bronze crossguard of the sword at his hip. Norran's sudden departure isn't lost Tiris. He watches the Duke Lomasa ride off before looking back to Milora. "Careful, my Lady," he warns her before turning to jog off after Norran. Tiris Kahar wears his armor well, but it's still not much of a jog. Ashlynn eases up in her saddle as her mount enters the main thoroughfare, stretching travel-weary muscles and slapping idly at the road dust coating her riding boots. With a nudge of her heels to direct Snowmist around obstacles, her gaze wanders over the street and its occupants as she passes. :The two mangled-looking Black Wildlings stop about one hundred yards outside of town, apparently content to wait for the approach of the Lomasa nobleman. Fangs bare as they hiss, hunching over a bit. The decapitated one reaches up to stabilize his head. As the white-haired tailor (Reijek)'s path comes near that of Ashlynn Bitch, Reijek pauses, and frowns up at her, squinting as he shields his eyes. "Mistress, I believe you are in dire need of some better clothes." he says, earnestly. Norran's eyes open wide, emerald eyes staring in surprise at the two wildlings as he and Palisade trot to approach. "This isn't good at all. Could those /possibly/ be...then what /are/...well, there's only one way to find out, isn't there?" Norran pauses, grinning widely as he draws Sul'thraze from his baldric and raises it high, pointing it in the direction of the two wildlings as he yells, "Palisade, let us ride!" A sharp kick to the war charger's sides, and Palisade's trot breaks into a full-fledged gallop, a loud whinny accompanying the burst in movement as Norran readies his sabre. Milora is easily withheld by Tiris' hand; her eyes widen, and she nods at him rather solemnly before he moves off; her dragon-headed staff clatters to the crowd of the platform in favour of a biinwood longbow held at the ready as she moves some number of paces behind the men, until she's in good sight of the problem. An arrow is chosen from her quiver. Vamyla notices the sudden commotion and the direction in which Norran is heading curiously. "What is going on?" she asks herself aloud. She begins wandering in the same direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of what has caused the sudden movement. Ashlynn glances down toward Reijek with both brows arched in surprise. "I beg your pardon...?" she begins bemusedly, before the hubbub around the square has her looking up with a frown, automatically slowing Snowmist to a near stop. Reijek clears his throat. "I SAID." he says, raising his voice as loud as his frail frame can manage. "THAT YOU ARE IN DIRE NEED FOR BETTER CLOTHING MADAME." apparently, Reijek is rather oblivious to what is going on around him, because he pays no mind to the charging man in the pretty armor, nor Ashlynn's frown. "/Alin/," Katriana growls, unshouldering her bow and taking an arrow from the quiver to nock into the bowstring, though pointed down at the ground while in travel. She takes off after the Mikin, muttering curses under her breath, eyes flickering around with a touch of anxiety. Katriana Nillu equips Oak Longbow. "My Lord," Tiris growls to Alin between heavy breaths, falling in at the Mikin's side. He grips his scabbard tightly, keeping it from moving too much with each jarring stride. He continues to make way after Norran on foot. :While Norran leads Alin toward the macabre duo of Black Wildlings on the eastern outskirts of town, flaming arrows arc through the darkening sky from the hills to the west. Ashlynn and Milora have a chance to spy the two dozen incoming projectiles as they crackle and whisper downward toward the center of town. Everyone else is not quite so lucky. Ashlynn winces, casting Reijek a disbelieving look that is fast fading toward irritation. "Thank you, Sir, for that glowing recommendation. But perhaps we can take up this subject later..." she begins, tightening her hold upon the reins while the river trotter begins to dance uneasily at its rider's tension...and with a gasp as she spies the arcing lines of fire, she cries out while shoving her mount toward cover, trying to herd Reijek along the way, "'Ware, arrows from the west!" Reijek protests, as he stumbles along, being herded. "Arrows from the west? I have never heard of such a design. It could be interesting, if you let me make it for you...but this is rather an emergency. You need new clothing /now/, mistress. You need to start paying attention to the world around you. I only say this to help you, you really could be quite beautiful you know!" he keeps shouting obliviously up at the woman who seems to be irritating him with the inexplicable herding. Alin nods curtly to Tiris, pulling his helm on as they advance, before devoting both hands to the heavy mace he wields. "I don't see why he's approaching on a horse without barding." He rumbles, to Tiris, grimly. "It's not like he's using a polearm. They'll claw that horse down the minute he's in range of the claws." He, unfortunately, doesn't notice the arrows at all. Realizing that she can't hope to catch up to Norran, Vamyla stops and heads back in the direction from whence she came. She is completely oblivious to everything, still passively wondering what made the nobleman take off like that. She brushes a lock of her wavy brown hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear as she walks. Blissfully unaware of his township getting set on fire for the moment, Norran's charge toward the two wildlings continues unimpeded. "I see you've been wounded already! I hope that doesn't mean you'll go down easier, that'd be such a /pity/!" The armored pair thundering toward the two wildlings, the Duke on his back moves to flank the side of the wildling that still has his head mostly intact for an attempted repeat of the other night. "Because... He. Is. An. Idiot," Katriana growls, a few trotted steps behind Alin and Tiris. "Always has been." Her gaze focuses primarily on the Lomasa, but flickers over to the Mikin on more than one occasion, still gripping her bow tightly. "He can handle them," Tiris replies to Alin confidently, panting a bit now. He doesn't seem to see anything other than the horseman and the Wildlings in front of him, and over the sound of his armor, he doesn't seem to hear the commotion behind. As such, Milora continues to move forward and against the wind - the arrows coming in are ignored, mostly, in favour of maintaining a steady hand on her bow and arrow. "Oh, those arrows..." is all Reijek can manage as he sees them, finally. He surely would make a daring and brave strategic redeployment of his position, you know, in order to flank... from the rear better, but all he manages to do is cause a damp spot to appear on his trousers. "Wait, ARROWS?!" he screeches, in a shrill, decidedly feminine-sounding voice. :The two ramshackle walking corpses of Black Wildlings just sort of grin at Norran as he thunders toward them - and then they topple over backward, entrails spilling in a cloud of buzzing flies and the severed head bouncing away toward the side of the road. Meanwhile, back in town, Reijek looks up just in time to see a burning arrow pierce his chest. Arrows also puncture Ashlynn's left shoulder and the throat of her mount, Snowmist. :The horse topples, taking the wounded Ashlynn with it. Vamyla takes an arrow in the right abdomen. One of the projectiles comes straight down at Subhan Lomasa, striking her in the left shoulder and nearly piercing her neck. Another strikes Voreyn in the back, just below the right shoulder, while more pierce the horse she's riding. And many burning arrows strike rooftops in town, setting thatch and wood ablaze. "Disappointing!" grumbles the young Lomasa Duke aloud, tapping on Palisade's reins to slow the horse down. He encounters some whinnying and complaints, with a few "Oh, shush! You can stand in a stall with your own excrement all day, but this is bad?!" Norran's nose is notably scrunched during the whole experience in disgust, but he manages to settle the horse and turn him into the right direction. Norran's brows raise in further surprise. "/Very/ disappointing," he mutters, shaking his head as he eases Palisade to advance toward the direction of the arrows, his sabre still gripped in his left hand. "To arms! To the west!" is all he manages to cry out as he departs westwards. Iron sabatons fall flat against the ground and Tiris skids to a stop, watching the bodies topple over with a firm frown. "What sorcery is this?" he growls, displeased. His pauldrons rise and fall with his heavy breaths. At Norran's call, the Wildcat Duke turns to look back to the West. His countenance darkens significantly. He snorts angirly and starts off again, jogging back the way he came. Alin squints at the horse in the distance, murmuring, "Or is it wearing barding? Still.." The Mikin's armored step halts as the two wildlings go down, and he offers an irritated grunt of confusion. As Norran takes off in a different direction, Alin glances over at Katriana and Tiris, picking up his pace to jog alongside the Kahar with the thunder of heavy armor. "Light, we were suckered!" Arriving just in time for an arrow to the shoulder, Subhan's eyes go wide and a piercing shriek is loosed from the woman. She takes a small step back before crumpling to the ground, the massive stores of composure the noblewoman usually held depleted all in an instant while tears of pain, shock and fear streak down her face. If everyone thought the last shriek was girly, Reijek lets out a positively soprano shriek of pain, as his world is replaced with blackness and pain, replacing his previously rather content world filled with light and oxygen. "Take me forever...to mend this...." he manages, weakly, before the soft caress of unconsciousness slips over him. At least, one might disembodiedly surmise, it is better than that whole fire and pain thing. "Wha..." is all that escapes Vamyla's mouth as her belly is pierced by the flaming arrow. She looks down in disbelief and she falls to her knees, tears tricking down her cheeks from the pain. Her breath comes in shallow gasps and her white dress is stained with large amounts of thick, rich blood, which douses the flames before they can ignite her clothes... She falls from her knees to her side and lets out a blood-curdling scream as the realization of what has happened hits her full-force. "He will either be dead, or have all of the attackers dead by the time we catch up," Katriana grumbles, turning and moving off with Tiris and Alin once more, eying Norran and Palisade grouchily. "So I suppose his mounting a horse had its uses after all." So much for shouting, "Hi guys!" Instead, as Voreyn steps from the carriage, she is overwhelmed with the bewildering scene spreading before her. She doesn't even have time to acknowledge the sight of fallen companions with a shout before an arrow slices through the air and buries itself angrily in her back. This time she does manage to cry, a wordless sound of surprise and pain, as she topples forward onto the ground and sprawls onto her stomach. She is not unconscious, but shock keeps her down for the count. :As the wounded sprawl on the ground in the center of town and fire begins to spread along the rooftops, new sounds can be heard from the west: The shrieking war cries of two dozen Black Wildlings as they lope toward town, flinging aside their bows and taking out a motley assortment of hand weapons, from cudgels to short swords. Arbiter down! While her attention is otherwise directed, Milora is struck - her bow and arrow go flying and she is momentarily lifted from the ground and thrown onto her back. There's no scream of pain, just the brittle sound of air leaving her lungs and then a sickening, shuddering whimper as she looks down at the various shades of read flowing - the blood - and dancing - the fire - across her body. Fortunately, the thin layer of metal and thick leather shell mostly protects her skin from burns - for the moment. :Meanwhile, it seems the guard Norran has painstakingly recruited is starting to gain some measures of worth. A couple horsemen that have been off seeing to other parts of East Leg arrive, noting their gaudily-dressed Duke charging toward the rest and raising their half-pikes to follow after him. Several harried archers and guardsmen also begin to pour out of the local guard barracks, trying to gain some perception out of what's going on after quickly dressing themselves as they bear their arms. As Norran and his horsemen begin to converge, the Lomasa grins widely as he continues his charge to the west, calling, "THIS TIME, WE'LL NOT BE MADE A MOCKERY OF! DEFEND EAST LEG, EARN YOUR TABARDS!" As the arrows take their toll on the population, Norran remains completely focused on the wildings charging toward them, Palisade galloping strongly in their direction as his rider's cloak billows out behind them. Arriving back at the centre of town, Tiris slows from a jog to a walk. Rage burns off of him slowly as he draws the longsword Azuredge from his hip. The blue edge of the blade glows dimly in the twilight. "Stay behind us, My Lady," he booms to Katriana sharply. The Wildcat Duke looks to Alin and nods firmly before refocusing on the wildling onslaught. :The East Leg archers take aim and fire, but in the frantic rush, they are unprepared for the unfamiliar sight of the Black Wildlings rushing them. Their shots are panicked, unsure, and they manage to take down only two of the attackers. Meanwhile, the Wildlings bash in one archer's skull and impale another with a spear as they continue their charge toward town. :The lancers engage the Wildlings next, killing three of the assailants while one of the lancers falls, decapitated by a badly nicked scimitar. Reijek would certainly have, by now, tried to rush the attackers wielding nothing but scissors and a sewing needle, but alas, he is forced to dream sweet dreams of sewing an outfit for the courier that inspires her fellows and drives fear into the hearts of her enemies. However, in his confused half-dead state, the name "Arrows from the west" changes to an even better design name "Arrows in the chest." "Katriana, since you're not armored for close combat, see if you can take out any of them to even the numbers now that they're rid of the bows. Triage will just have to wait." Alin rumbles without halting, making steadily for the charging group, the haft of his warmace held in both hands. He nods to Tiris, picking up the pace and raising the spiked head of the large steel weapon. :The third wave of the town guard makes contact with the enemy, but fares less well than the lancers. Two of the guards manage to gut one Wildling and slice another's throat, but the one of the guards is stabbed through the throat while another gets his face chewed on by a Black Wildling after taking a cudgel upside the head. Vamyla continues to lay on the ground, bleeding profusely. Still mostly aware, she concentrates on deep, calming breathes, although each deep breath she takes causes her a large amount of pain in her abdomen. She watches the scene in the town with horror, one hand clutching her wound and the other wiping the tears from her eyes so she can see. "I have to..." she mumbles to herself, "I have to... to do something..." Her eyes move from one wounded person to the next and she looks down again at her own wound. Her complexion is becoming increasingly pale as she tries to will herself to get up. Shuddering with shock, Subhan's arms pull tightly over her stomach, the noblewoman leaning over slightly as though she were going to be sick. It may be the case, as the woman's gone a sickly shade of white, her clothes being stained with the red flowing out from her wound. Katriana Nillu just gives Tiris an angry snarl as she happily ignores the booming command, moving through town, drawing up her bow, continuing to move forward. "That is the plan, Alin," she replies, pausing once just within archery range. Her eyes flicker to the Mikin, "Be careful," she breathes out, and then takes her aim, drawing back the arrow and letting it go. Katriana's arrow strikes a Wildling, taking him down in a sprawl on the cobblestones. It also draws the attention of the dead Wildling's closest two companions, who heft their bladed weapons and start loping in her direction. Riding with his lancers (Who have fared a lot better than people without a horse, lucky for him!), Norran continues his charge atop Palisade. Heading directly for the line with whatever men he has left, Norran brings Sul'thraze to bear as the Knight charges toward the wildling attackers. Attempting to punch through a weak spot, Norran rides to the right of his target, attempting to bring it down with a sweep on his blade. "Shades! Stay down! Don't move for Light's sake." Tiris speaks sideways to the wounded as he and Alin move past. Shaking his head to clear it, he looks up at the ensuing melee with a determined gaze. As two wildlings break off for Katriana, Tiris moves to intercept, holding his two-hander at the ready. Voreyn rolls onto her left side, groaning as the movement shakes her right shoulder enough to remind her of her wound. Her left arm is tucked beneath her head, and her right lies limply across her side. No blissful darkness comes to welcome her, but only the hard stone ground beneath her, the roaring fires burning the town, and the sound of Wildlings clashing with guards. Cries of pain, of death, the sound of flesh being hacked from bodies are enough to make her gag, unseasoned as she is, but she cannot seem to tear her rapidly darting gaze away from those who have fallen around her. Her breath comes in quick gasps and she growls, gritting her teeth. Alin swivels towards the pair trying to intercept the archer, attempting to attack the wildling Tiris doesn't go after, intent on meeting the assault in unison with the Kahar Duke. He doesn't speak, even as the cries of anguish and the sounds of battle wash over him, and the only sound that comes from him is the explosive grunt as he brings down his mace. Tiris successfully lops the head off one of the Wildlings bound for Katriana, but he's unable to deal with the second Wildling, whose gore-spackled blade finds a seam in the Kahar's armor and jabs into his stomach just before Alin arrives. Unable to oppose Alin, though, that Wildling goes down under the nobleman's attack. Laying her head back and staring up at the sky, Milora lets her vision go out of focus. She isn't allowed the relief of unconsciousness yet, and so she turns her head in the general direction of the misery and breathes labored breaths. Thrust into the puddle of wounded in this way, bloody and smoking, she mutters something incoherent to herself. :Now that they've had time to adjust to the situation, the archers that survived the first onslaught regroup and fire with steadier hands. Two more Wildlings go down. Only thirteen remain, swarming into town. :Like the archers, the lancers seem to take to their mission with much more confidence this time around, killing three Wildlings and leaving ten to menace East Leg. But the guards and other defenders are waiting to deal with those. After lying on the ground for a little while longer, Vamyla finally moves. Aware of the fact that her wound is substantial, she rolls onto her back, yelling in pain. "Something... have to... to do..." she continues muttering, her brain slowing down from loss of blood. Her breathing returns to the shallow gasps and she looks around frantically for something she can use to help herself up. Finding nothing, she rolls back onto her side and starts sobbing quietly, continuing to watch the scene and wishing she could do something to help the other wounded. :Two more Black Wildlings fall to the swords of East Leg's guards. Katriana Nillu's hands are moving about as fast as they can, at the moment. As soon as the first arrow leaves her hands, she is already drawing her second, and with a quick sweep to what is closest, and not taken by another fighter, chooses her next target to fire on. Without further ado, Subhan fades into unconsciousness, the woman tumbling onto her side to lay prone and vulnerable. The Wildcat Duke grunts and stumbles backwards, going down roughly. The fall wrenches the blade free from Tiris's armor, and he rolls a bit to one side. He groans and covers his wound over his armor, still gripping Azuredge tightly in his free hand. Another Black Wildling shrieks angrily, falling as it takes an arrow from Katriana Nillu's bow. Three more Wildlings are running toward Norran. Smashing the skull of the second assailant in with his mace, Alin winces visibly as the Kahar goes down. He calls back to Katriana, moving aside a bit to give her a clear line of firing. "Again, Kat. If we can draw any more off it might give the guards a better chance." Bringing his mace in a defensive position, the green-armored Mikin braces himself, feet shoulder width apart with one foot slightly behind the other. The crowd thinning out significantly, Norran grows bolder (If that's even possible). Laughing aloud, his grin grows about as wide as anyone's seen it. "A round of mead for every shadowspawn you fall!" yells Norran, emerald green eyes focusing on the three wildlings who charge toward him. Kicking Palisade's sides, he moves to charge right back, attempting to avoid the brunt of their attack and take one down by rushing for the rightmost possible 'ling. Reijek likely would pay good money to be able to sob impotently at the scene, and would likely, if conscious, lecture Vamyla on how lucky she had it. But instead, he has a redundantly frightening nightmare about all of the sheep who had wool sheared from them to make his beautiful wool clothing have all acquired arrows, and seem to be taking quite an interest to the expanding red bull’s-eye (or, for those morbid people out there, spot of blood), and seem quite interested in the endless fashion possibilities of having the arrowhead and bull’s-eye meet. :One Wildling goes down, trampled, and the other two miss their swinging strikes as the Lomasa rumbles past. They hiss in frustration, backs to the town. :The town's surviving archers take down the two Wildlings that are gaping after the galloping Lomasa, leaving only four of the creatures swarming toward town. The lancers and guards move in to begin what might just be a mopping up operation at this point. The Zahir Duchess tilts her head back and her gaze lands on the Arbiter lying several feet away. She stares for several moments, before managing to yell out "Milora!" Although whether it can be heard above the din or not is questionable. She pulls her left arm beneath her away from her head, and crosses it in front of her neck to reach over her right shoulder in search of the arrow. From this angle, her fingertips only scrape just barely against the wooden haft and she lets out a half-gasp, half-sob of frustration and pain. A young Seamel steps off a carriage and into ... utter chaos. An expression of horror fills his face and his grip on the blade of the scimitar slung over his shoulder tightens. His jaw tightens angrily as he begins to stride towards the scene of death and destruction. He brings the sword off his shoulder and grabs the hilt in his right hand. The situation seems well in hand, however, so his approach is slow and cautious, looking around to see if there are any further threats. :The East Leg contingent of lancers and guards easily wipe out the last of the attacking Black Wildlings, but half the town is ablaze and many wounded and dead are strewn about the commons. If Reijek were awake, he wouldn't have much more time to lecture Vamyla on her luck to have consciousness. Lying quite helpless and still bleeding all over the ground, the heavy brunette's vision begins to fade into darkness. Her complexion is the palest is has ever been, nearly white, and her breathing has slowed substantially. She closes her eyes, no longer concerned about the others, merely wishing with her last bit of consciousness that the pain could stop. Her body falls limp as she passes out. Alin sets his gore-spattered mace aside, pulling off his helm and gauntlets and dropping them beside the large weapon. That finished, he jogs towards Tiris, calling over to Katriana. "Do you know anything about medicine? All I know is to stuff cloth against the wound. Your grace, can you speak?" Katriana Nillu stands ready, her eyes slightly widened as she looks from left to right, bow still held ready, arrow drawn back. With the rush of wildlings finally slowing, and then finally stopping, her body begins to shiver slightly. She seems to fall out of her shock when Alin speaks, though. "I... no, I know nothing," she utters, sliding the arrow to the quiver, and bow to her shoulder before stepping slowly towards the Kahar and Mikin on shaky legs. Tiris Kahar groans and, with great effort, props himself up on one arm. He watches the town's guard take down the last of the assaulting wildlings with a look of relief--and, of course, great pain. Blood trickles from the bottom edge of his breastplate. He grunts, drops onto his back, and looks over to Alin. "Oh, Light save me..." he rumbles to Alin painfully. "I'll live. Others need aid more than I." He lurches, moans, and begins to unhook the clasps on his breastplate. "Voreyn." The word is weak and carried out on a breath; Milora extends an arm not attacked to a wound should in the general direction of the Duchess. Substantial effort is used to turn her head toward her wounded shoulder, and there's another word: "Funny." -- Following that, she shuts her eyes and causes them to overflow with previously unnoticed tears. :With the primary threat over, East Leg now just has to worry about the secondary threat: Being On Fire. No time is taken to reflect on what just happened, the lancers riding over to the the stables to get whatever water they can from the drinking troughs, and the remaining archers and guards either departing to the well or trying their best to tend or take the wounded out of harm's way. The Wildling horde gone for now, Norran turns his eyes toward the grim sight of East Leg in flames. "You did well, today. Rest well," mutters Norran, presumably to himself, as he returns his bloodied Sul'thraze to the baldric at his side. Nudging Palisade forward, he moves toward the town well. "Guards, fight the fire! Don't let it spread!" he calls in command to whatever military he may have left, whether or not they're already doing it. Ashlynn, knocked out cold when she had been toppled over along with her mount, finally begins to stir again, blinking in dazed confusion at the dirt upon which her cheek rests before she tries to move - and has to pause with a hiss and wheeze of shock. She looks disbelievingly for a moment at the shaft buried in her left shoulder, gaze wandering on down to the bulk of the horse that has pinned her inside leg, before continuing on in consternation to the chaos that has overtaken the town, still trying to recollect her wits. The true hero of today, Reijek, continues to bleed, finally finding something in a combat situation which he is quite superior to the others at. Unfortunately for him, this is not something most people can be proud of. However, were he conscious, Reijek surely would. Lyddmull looks about at the dead and dying, biting back an angry, impotent snarl as his head leans down. Norran's command wakes him up and he looks over at the Duke before turning his eyes upwards towards the burning buildings. Not a healer, the wounded are better left to those who can actually help them, he begins moving towards the nearest cottage, unclasping his cloak as he goes. He looks quickly about for a rake or something to begin pulling the thatch off of the roof, but barring that, he'll have to stick with what he has on him. Voreyn struggles, squirming on her side before rolling onto her stomach. Her right arm hits the ground, heavy with its inability to function, and she gasps, exhaling quickly. Compared to many of the others, she seems rather far from death with only the single arrow, despite the seeping red staining the violet leather. And so she tries to move with the assistance of her good arm, and fails as the weight of her armor keeps her where she lies. With a desperate, tearless sob, she rests her head on the cobbles, pressing her cheek into the stone while crying out to whoever might hear, "Get Milora!" Fat lot of good it'll do with no healers about, though. "All right, your grace. Stuff something against the wound, I'm told it helps." Alin rumbles to Tiris, dispensing the single peice of medical knowledge that he seems to have. Standing from his crouch, the Mikin makes his way towards the sound of the voice summoning for Milora's aid, trying without much luck to rip his cloak into strips as he strides towards the downed arbiter. "What's wrong with her?" He calls over to Voreyn, before biting at the end of the cloak and trying, without much luck, to tear a strip off again. :Though the calamity is mostly over, and though the quiet after the storm has once against descended upon a location stricken by an assault of Black Wildlings, that lull of sound does not continue for very long. :A thunder sounds from the west; not a natural thunder, however, but one of hoof and horse and soldier. A dissonant collection of sounds all blending to form one constantly dull fulmination heralds their arrived: a column of riders, three ranks deep by five ranks wide. Fifteen in all. :The cobalt-blue of their armor glistens beneath the torches a few of them hold as they ride hard towards East Leg, a standard carried by the middle rider proclaims their alliance for all to see: An ivory steelwood upon a field a black. Cavalry of the Imperial Watch. :However, they don't ride alone. At the head of this cavalry uni, upon a mount bred and armored for war, rides a different kind of warrior. A warrior with auricomous hair of silver and eyes of ethereal blue, clad in a matte-black surcoat and leather pants. In his right hand a longsword of obsidian glimmers wickedly as it refracts whatever light dares fall upon it. :The sharpness of that weapon is second only to that of his determined expression, and the steel in his gaze... ---- ''Return to Season 6 (2007) Category:Logs